Джордж Мартин – Wild Cards (страница 18)

One less thing to think about. She changed into her pajamas and robe, and tried to figure out what to do about God’s Weenies, the Plano Originals, and Bambi Coldwater. Blowing them up wasn’t an option, and that made her kinda sad.

Michelle grabbed the ice bucket, thinking a drink while she watched TV wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Keycard, she reminded herself. She tucked it into the pocket of her robe and slipped out the door. The ice machine was at the end of the hall near the emergency exit. She caught a glimpse of the exit door closing. Weird.

As she reached the alcove with the ice machine, she could have sworn she heard a giggle coming from the stairwell. A girl’s giggle. Then a lower-pitched voice.

Michelle’s eyes narrowed. This could not be one of her kids. They wouldn’t be that stupid.

She pushed the exit door open.

Sitting on the stairs were Segway and Kimmie. They were holding hands.

“Ms. Pond!” they said in unison. They dropped hands.

“It’s the first night,” Michelle said sternly. But not too sternly, just sternly enough. Not I want to terrify you, just You’ve really disappointed me. She held the door open. “Peter, go back to your room. Kimmie, what floor are you on?”

Kimmie stared down at her sneakers. “I’m on the fourth floor. Please don’t tell my mother!”

“Ms. Pond, we weren’t doing anything,” Peter said. He looked scared. “We were just talking. Mostly about band stuff. And classes. Did you know Plano has special instructors who come in and give them lessons? Like they’re doing here at the competition. But all the time.”

Michelle narrowed her eyes. “And how did hand-holding come to be involved in this academic conversation?”

“Well, it’s not like we were kissing or anything,” Peter said. Kimmie’s cheeks turned bright cherry red.

“You.” Michelle pointed at Segway. “Get back to your room. And you, Miss Coldwater, go on now.”

Segway and Kimmie exchanged longing looks, then Kimmie started down the stairs.

“I’m really sorry, Ms. P.” Peter opened the emergency door and peeked down the hall, then rolled out.

“Go on,” Michelle said. So far, it appeared as if she was the worst chaperone ever, what with Segway and Kimmie canoodling on the first night. Michelle went to the ice machine and filled her bucket.

She turned, and standing a few feet before her was a woman. Her gray hair was a knotted mess, and she had a hideous rictus expression on her face. Michelle was shocked, and gooseflesh raced down her arms. The woman started toward her and a bubble began to form in Michelle’s free hand. But before she could let it fly, the woman vanished.

Michelle closed her hand, letting the bubble pop, absorbing its energy. Damn. I guess those ghost stories are real. Maybe I’ll have all the vodka in the minibar.

Bubbles and the Band Trip

Part 5

POP, POP, POP.

The report of the gun made her cringe. Soldiers screamed and collapsed. Michelle let bubbles go and they exploded. Then she blew up Aero.

Bam, bam, bam.

“Mom! Wake up!”

Michelle woke with a start. Sunlight was pouring around the edges of the drapes. Why did no hotel make curtains big enough to black out a room? she wondered. Adesina was pounding on her door. Shit. This can’t be good.

“Just a second.”

Michelle glanced at her phone as she stumbled out of bed. She opened the door, still disoriented from her dream. Not a dream, though. Kazakhstan.

“OMG, Mom,” Adesina said, holding out her tablet. “You’ve totes got to see this.”

Michelle took the tablet and let Adesina into the room. Adesina was having better luck with her wings this morning. They were snuggled against her back.

Michelle felt a little oogy from the drinks the night before. Those three vodkas from the minibar weren’t a superior life choice. She wasn’t much of a drinker and they’d hit her hard.

Adesina’s tablet had a video queued up. Michelle saw herself frozen in motion, bubbles rising from her hands. She hit play. It was a .gif of her boxing the Purity Baptist Church with bubbles on a continuous loop.

Don’t read the comments.

And yet she did.

I’malittleteapot1921: This is why people with the wild card virus should be locked up.

Newton3: re: I’malittleteapot1921—You’re an idiot. You should eat shit and die. When they were handing out stupid, you asked for an extra helping.

I’malittleteapot1921: re: Newton3—What’s a matter bro? You a joker? You scum should be wiped off the face of the earth …

Michelle handed the tablet back to Adesina. She picked up her phone and checked Twitter and sure enough, #stopBubbles and #withBubbles were trending.

Why do I look at this stuff? Really, it’s like picking a scab.

“I have some more videos and .gifs if you want to see them,” Adesina said helpfully. “The ones with Jade Blossom are awesome! Though not as good as the ones from her date with Cesar.”

“Yeah, not so much,” Michelle replied. It was already late, so she started taking off her pajamas. She could at least get a quick shower.

“God, Mom!” Adesina said, and turned away.

Michelle was perplexed. “Okay,” she said. “When did you get so weird about me being naked?”

“Since I got all this,” Adesina said, gesturing with her body. “It’s just so gross. You’re my mother.”

It made Michelle feel bad. Nakedness was just what she was used to doing during changes at runway shows. Maybe body stuff was a teenager thing. She needed to find someone to talk to about that. And that won’t be weird at all. She sighed.

“Okay,” she said as she started to the bathroom. “I’ll just hide in here until you’re gone. Tell the kids to meet me and the other chaperones downstairs in fifteen minutes for breakfast.”

She glanced at her phone again. “And I have a text from Miss Beecher saying we play last. Today at two P.M.”

Beats, Bugs, and Boys

by Diana Rowland

Part 1

LORIANNE’S STICKS FLEW OVER the drums, heavy beat pounding through the wild cheering of the stadium crowd. Led Zeppelin’s John Bonham looked on in awe while, off in the wings, Drummer Boy sat on the floor, all six hands covering his face as he sobbed. From the front row, Buddy Rich gave LoriAnne a thumbs-up—which was a bit strange since she was pretty sure he’d died about thirty years ago. But she couldn’t worry about that right now. Dave Grohl was about to finish up his solo, and then it’d be her turn.

“Take it, LoriAnne,” Dave shouted. “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee …”

Her rhythm faltered. “Huh?”

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Dave Grohl and Buddy Rich burst into a million sparkles as the whine of a mosquito shattered the dream.

“Aw, man, that was cold,” LoriAnne groaned. “You could’ve at least let me have my big solo.” She cracked one eye open to give the nightstand clock a bleary peek: 5:24 A.M. “Go ’way, skeeter. Got six whole minutes.”

No such luck. The skeeter had been content to stay by the window last night, but now it resisted her attempt to send it away. Instead, it crawled to her ear to sing a cheery skeeter wake-up song.

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

“Okay okay okay. Jeez. I’m awake.” She threw off the comforter, unable to keep from smiling as the skeeter danced happily around her head. It was tough to stay annoyed with the little thing. It had stayed tucked in her curls all the way from Louisiana and was probably just as excited as she was. Heck, LoriAnne was amazed she’d slept at all. Not only was this the biggest competition she’d ever been in, but it was the first time in her almost fifteen years she’d spent the night in a state that wasn’t Louisiana.

Holeeeee crap. San Antonio. Texas! She’d been worried there wouldn’t be any mosquitoes here, but San Antonio had plenty. She’d counted a dozen in the hotel lobby alone. It sure helped her nerves to have some of her little friends nearby.

And boy, did she have a lot of nerves. Not only was LoriAnne the youngest member of the Folsom Funkalicious Four, but she’d only been their drummer since December, after Reese Fowler’s mom got a promotion at her job and moved the whole family to Australia. And Reese had been the drummer when the band got the invite to the competition. Sure, LoriAnne had busted her butt to learn everything, and the band director, Mr. Sloane, seemed real happy with how she played, but she couldn’t help but be nervous.

Her roommate’s bed was empty and neatly made. Man, Cassie was up and out early. Knowing her, she’d either found a quiet place to read or was off practicing piano. Not that Cassie needed more practice. She was ah-maze-ing.

LoriAnne flicked on the light then did a double take at the clock: 6:24, not 5:24! She scrambled out of bed, excitement shifting to horror. She knew she’d set the time for the alarm, but she must have forgotten to turn it on. And on an important morning like this! Mr. Sloane had a six thirty A.M. reservation for the five of them at the restaurant downstairs, and had warned them not to be late. “We don’t want to lose our table,” he’d said. “Plus, it’s sure to be a madhouse in the morning, with eight bands all wanting to fuel up before heading over to the Tobin Center.”